


Pull me down if you want to

by catumaga



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, POV Lydia, Sharing a Bed, Summer Romance, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catumaga/pseuds/catumaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did I just-"<br/>"Stop breathing? Yeah." She can't help herself as she leans forward and carefully leans against him, forehead on his shoulder. "Don't do that again."<br/>"Okay."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pull me down if you want to

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ganseytheking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganseytheking/gifts).



> Written for tw rarepair gift exchange! huge thanks to the mods for organising everything and making it happen! i hope you guys enjoy
> 
> just a few notes:  
> \- follows canon until season 2 finale  
> \- some of the major plotpoints happen of S3 but it's not really important  
> \- scott is not pining for allison, in this universe, they part in season 2 minus the whole "i'll wait for you"

"It could be psychological".

"Wait- what do you mean? Like psychosomatic?". The walls and floor of the gas station's bathroom are a dark mustard, and Lydia doesn't even need to check to know the smell of rotten is coming from one of the stalls. Scott is slumped against the wall, head leaning on the tube of the sink and they're lucky it's just them in here. 

"Somatoformic." Stiles is squinting at her, and there's a faint stain on his hoodie where it brushed against Scott's shirt.

"Se-".

"-A physical illness from a psychogenic cause." Allison's panicking, and not in the good way, where the rush of adrenaline that comes with a stressful situation makes you focused and driven. Or maybe that's just Lydia. Scott's barely breathing, droplets of blood running down his chest, the claw marks fresh as if they were made two minutes ago. Stiles arms flail as he talks, powering on about their options. He could come up with an idea within minutes, he's smarter than he looks. But she's there so there is really no need to wait. 

˜*˜*˜*˜*˜

"Let me do it." Allison is holding the needle, hands shaking and Lydia wants to ask if she has a history of panic attacks, even though she knows that's more of Stiles' department. 

"Do what?"

"Stitch him up." There's an impatience in her voice, but she can't help it. Allison is strong and fearless but's been jittery the entire trip, she's panicking. She hasn't been back the entire summer but Lydia has. And taking what happened between her and Scott- not that it mattered. Summer flings are...cliche and overrated.But- she feels a responsibility. To do something, to help. 

She clicks her heels, and waits. It is ultimately Allison's decision. While Stiles knew about the summer afternoons she spent with Scott, Allison didn't. And even though Allison assured her it was over, that she and Scott were different people, first loves are particularly tough to hack away. They are an intricate part of you and if she was honest, before Scott, the memory of Jackson would stumble around in her mind, arguing with her, mouth stretching into that cocky smile of his. She knows, logically what it means that she doesn't think of Jackson anymore, rather it's another certain werewolf that occupies her thoughts but emotions are difficult to calculate. Especially when there's a boy with floppy hair who smiles at her like sunshine and doesn't take, doesn't make her feel tired every time he smirks. 

"Okay". Allison hands the needle over, and a string of thread, hands trembling. Lydia takes a moment to look at her reassuringly. 

"Are going to be okay?"

"Yeah I just- I don't know. Just don't let him die okay?"

"Never." There's a small private smile exchanged between the two of them, and Lydia feels something settle in her chest. Allison is her best friend, and stronger than given credit. She'll be okay. 

"So uh- I'm not really a fan of needles so I'm just going to-...go. You got this Lyds", Stiles offers her a warm smile before his eyes drop to Scott's unconscious body. His smile slackens, expression turning grim. "Hang in there buddy." He stares for a moment, before turning and leaving.

"I'll go stay with him. I don't want to distract you." And like that, it's just her and Scott. Scott who's breathing is so low, to the point where she has to place her ear against his mouth, listening intently, just to make sure he hasn't stopped. She knows time is running out and she kneels, butt falling back on her heels. It takes her a few tries to get the thread in the needle and she kicks herself mentally. Cold and calculated is how she needs to approach this. Especially for what comes next, the gruesome, actual needle-through-flesh part. She may be experienced in reading about medical procedures but that doesn't mean she has ever actually operated. Maybe she should have let Allison do this. But it's too late now. The first time the needle pierces the flesh, she shudders but powers on. She can do this for Scott. She's in the middle of stitching when Scott groans slightly. She looks up and meets his eyes, dark brown eyes staring down at her. 

"Hey."

"Hey-oh", he groans again, stomach muscles spasming slightly. 

"You're not letting yourself heal."

"Wh-"

"You're dying." There's no point in delaying this particular piece of information, seeing as they're already running on borrowed time. Scott has that look in his eyes, and she knows he's going to say something that'll justify the wounds, because he's that good. But she's not.

"You need to stop. This is ridiculous? Look, I get it. Derek's dead. But you couldn't have saved him. I may not have been there, but I know you. And if there's one thing I know with certainty is that if you wanted to save him, you did your best. And if you couldn't, no one could have done any more."

He open his mouth to protest but she keeps going.

"No, listen. If Derek is really dead, Boyd and Isaac need someone to guide them. And it's not just about them. Think of your mom. Of Stiles. They need you-I need you." The last part comes out small and she straightens her back, turning her attention back to the wound. She'd patch him up and get him out of there. Alive.

"Thank you."

He's smiling crookedly and she smiles back, a warmth in her chest and goes back to stitching. It turns out quite nicely, an even criss cross pattern of white thread across Scott's chest. They really needed to clean it though. She isn't sure how werewolves reacted to infections but she doesn't want to chance it. It takes a few seconds of admiring her work to she realize Scott isn't breathing. She presses her ear against his chest, straining for the thump of his heart but it's too faint. A wave of panic washes over her and she recalls the CPR class she took back at the beginning of sixth grade, when pool parties were the rage and she'd declared that there was no way she was going to attend such unorganized events without proper safety measures. She tries to nudge Scott into a sitting position but he's heavy and her heels slip, threatening to snap. With a cry of frustration, she takes them off and lobs them at the wall, before moving him into a lying position. She begins pumping, counting the seconds under her breath. 

"I'm going to personally kill you when you wake up". Even as she presses her lips and pushes air into his lungs, she won't let herself think it. Scott won't die, scott can't die. 

"You can't die, you're not dead, you promised me!". I won't let you, she thinks and in that last push, he sputters, face screwing up and her eyes burn hot. She manages to blink the tears away and he looks like hell but his eyes are open and he's breathing. 

"Did I just-"

"Stop breathing? Yeah." She can't help herself as she leans forward and carefully leans against him, forehead on his shoulder. "Don't do that again."

"Okay."

 

It's funny because she'd walked into the Beacon Hills Coffee Shop a week or so after school ended and it'd been like every ridiculous teenage movie where books fall to the floor and the guy looks at the girl and when their hands meet, there's sparks, singing cherub babies, fireworks, the whole deal. Except this time it was Scott looking at her, and it was her keys that fell and there wasn't a spark but he'd offered to buy her the coffee he spilled, a slightly terrified but mostly bright look in his eyes. Before all this, Scott was just Scott. A recurring role in the Scott and Allison True Love Epic: Plus Sequels. But then, it'd had been just the two of them, sitting across from each other, knees bumping every now and then. She'd found herself laughing, the sound falling from her mouth without her permission, reckless, as Scott meticulously recounted Stiles' various attempts to sneak into The Jungle. The persistent ache of loneliness that had been a constant ever since Jackson had boarded his private jet to London, had dissipated, if only for an afternoon. 

After that, she saw him everywhere. Grocery store, parking lot, library ("SAT's are coming up", was the explanation along with a crooked smile and a shuffle of books, leaving a free space next to him). Allison was exploring Versailles with her father, her own parents in the Hamptons and it would have made sense, to leave, to get away, go somewhere normal where there are no werewolves or evil druids who are english teachers by day. But something had kept here in Beacon Hills, maybe it was just that she didn't feel like parading around, socializing, dealing with the superficial neighbours in the Hamptons after everything that happened. So she stayed and resolved to working on her tan and her AP Math II book because it's never too early for Advanced Calculus. Except Scott is there and Stiles, when he's not away on father-son bonding fishing trips. It's easy, the way it never was with Jackson. There's a lot of laughing and Scott being heroically and by default, kind. There's also a lot of supernatural talk and the amount of things she doesn't know increases tenfold but it only makes her even more curious. And then, one week, Stiles is gone with his dad to meet with some Polish relatives who are visiting Washington D.C where they're sitting side by side, at their weekly SAT prepping, Scott's thigh is pressing into hers. He's so close she can feel the abnormal body heat. (she understands why Derek was so averse to shirts) It's about timing. It's about them turning their heads at the same time and Scott kissing the same way he does everything, wholeheartedly unselfish. It had been just a soft press to the lips, hand lightly touching her shoulder. He'd smiled, tugging at her heart strings, and returned to prepping. Which would have been fine but Lydia had always considered herself a modern woman and she was so here for fervent make outs in dark library corners. The rest of the summer was spent the same way the first half was, SAT studying, watching Stiles and Scott play lacrosse on the empty school grounds, except there was also kissing and nights spent over at Lydia's house, curled up side by side. She found herself unable to stop smiling every time Scott was around, his hand in hers, his lips always reaching in for a slow, languid kiss. She felt safe. 

The end of the summer came, supermarkets putting up big signs of back to school specials, her parents leaving phone messages that they probably wouldn't be back in time for the first day of school. The weather was too good to miss apparently. She got scared. It's one thing to spend the entire summer side by side, the freedom palpable. Sticky summer kisses, sex that was good enough to make her eyes roll (let it be said, Scott Mccall knows what he's doing) but there's a reason summer flings are only meant to last one summer. She had said that, two days before school started, after he'd come over, post truly mind blowing sex (who knew she and Mccall were so...compatible?) and he'd laughed, if a little self-deprecatingly.

"I'm not that selfless, you know?"

"No one's asking you to be anything. It's just a fact that summer romances don't last past the summer."

"And this is a summer romance then?"

"I'd say so."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Scott, you nearly died more than times than I can count last semester alone. Not even including the fact that my ex boyfriend turned into kanima then was impaled by claws and then turned into a werewolf, our lives are already pretty messed up as it is. Why can't we just- enjoy it for what it was?". 

"You can be so stubborn at times." Then there was kissing that led to hickies and Scott getting on his knees and a whole lot of activities which made her actively forget the conversation for a while. But it didn't leave her mind, and niggled her brain as she lay in his arms, Scott fast asleep. There was not going to be any heart breaking. At first he'd insisted, saying he was here for more than just a fling but she'd persuaded him to give her some space. And Scott, the always perfect gentlemen, gave her space. She held herself firm and got used to waking up with in an empty bed, sheets on the left side cold. There's the whole deer crashing through their car window incident which she tries not to think about too much. She had been able to see over Stiles's shoulder, Scott grabbing Allison, a frantic look on his face. Stiles' hand was on her elbow, and his face was worried but it wasn't the same. Scott had gone over to her, made sure she wasn't hurt, and something in her ached as to how much she missed presence, just having him close. It was probably heartburn anyway. Just normal body reactions to a visual that stimulates sensory memories. Nothing else. 

Showing up with Allison at the party Stiles and Scott were invited to was an emergency. She had an excuse, Allison's matching bruise a distraction from the pinprick of envy that came with imagining Scott hooking up with a random girl. At the school, when Derek had gruffly stated there was nothing there, despite it obviously being pareidolia, she'd spent the rest of the time resolutely picking at her nails, because she was bored, not because it was agony to look at Scott, to not look at him, to be in this situation. Her resolve to not be the teenage girl with the stupidly fragile emotional system was weakened. It was for the best. It's a miracle they're all even alive. She constantly reminded herself of this, of how they should be focused on surviving, especially since a pack of Alphas was coming to kill them all for reasons unknown. She just needed to focus on what was important. She was going to get over a stupid fling with the kindest and bestest boy she'd ever known and in two years she'd be out of here, college-bound to whichever school offered the most advanced math program. 

And that would have been her plan except something took over her, seeing Scott bleeding and on the brink of death in that mustard tiled bathroom in the middle of nowhere. And she'd realized, that there was a reason her head was unable to force her heart to stop somersaulting every time she caught a sight of his smile or his eyes. And it filled her with dread because it really was terrible timing.

"I screwed up.", she says. She's not sure what she's apologizing for but she needs to say this, because if there's anyone who'll let her share the weight of it all, it's Scott. It's always Scott. "I think." As an afterthought. Scott doesn't reply for a moment, and she's still leaning against him, focusing on the tiny stitching of Scott's jean pockets. She lifts her head slowly, tendrils of hair spilling over her shoulder. 

"Me too." And there's that smile, devastating, the corners of his eyes crinkling. His skin is already knitting back together, leaving behind smeared blood on unblemished skin. She lets go of a breath she wasn't aware she was holding, and can't hold back the smile because her heart is pounding against her ribs, something inside her chest curling up and settling. She slides over and sits next to him, back against the wall. 

"We should probably go. Stiles and Allison were really worried about you." His hand is sliding over to hers.

"In a minute." Considering his near death experience, his hand is ridiculously warm as he takes hers, interlacing their fingers together. 

"I love you."

Silence.

"Good- Me too."

She was trying to go for something less desperate, more assured. But they're seventeen and she just brought him back to life in the bathroom of a gas station and he's a werewolf and she's a banshee and graduation is long ways to go anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> constructive criticism welcome (ps that this is the first fic i've written, i have no idea what im doing)
> 
> come and cry with me about dumb teenage werewolves: studstilinski / tumblr


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